


A Sorcerer, A Detective And A Horny Magic Cloak = Hot Sex

by LadyGlinda



Series: This Doctor Has A Strange Love Life [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dubious Consent, Fluff, M/M, No Eurus Holmes, Not Canon Compliant, Protective and horny Cloak, Sherlock is secretly in love with Mycroft, Smut, Somehow the sorcerer and the detective are drawn to each other, Sort of - as they are actually... the same person..., Stephen loves his Cloak, The faked death never happened, There was no Irene, no Mary Watson, strangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: By accident, Doctor Stephen Strange enters the bedroom of sleeping detective Sherlock Holmes. A naked detective. The Cloak of Levitation find him as hot as Stephen does. He just has to come back...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I know the London Sanctum was destroyed by the Zealots. But for this story, it had to be rebuilt. This should be a crackfic (Ben doing Ben, how much crackier could it be?) but somehow it isn't. They just fit so well! Even though they are a tad blind towards the fact they are basically the same person... I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you do :)

It had been an accident. A combination of exhaustion (inevitable if one read night after night to learn everything necessary for one's mission), sloppiness and a Cloak that had just fumbled with his chest while he had been opening a portal to the recently restored London Sanctum. He did enjoy his encounters with the Cloak tremendously but sometimes the artifact didn’t know when to keep its fabric to itself…

And now he was standing in a strange place. A bedroom, to be precise. It was around midnight in London and the long-legged figure on the bed, lit by the moonlight that was creeping through the open window, was sound asleep, lying on his stomach, the head covered by a mop of black hair, the face snuggled into the pillows.

And Stephen was staring at a butt-naked… _butt_ , impossibly plush, and something seemed to stare back at him. He blushed.

“Well, great,” he mumbled, not able to pull his look away from this single… _eye_ that wasn’t really an eye.

And then he cursed when the Cloak pushed him forward to the figure to be able to reach out with one silky corner and let it examine the… _not-eye_.

“Stop that, are you mad?!”

The figure on the bed mumbled something and he hissed: “Get OUT of there!”

The Cloak reluctantly pulled back and Stephen hurried to leave the room, not bothering with opening a portal. He used the door. He hurried through the silent, dark flat, grateful for not meeting anyone else, and found the right door after two tries.

When he was on the street after stumbling down the stairs, he turned around to read the number: 221B. He narrowed his eyes. This rang a bell. He looked out for the sign with the street name and glanced up in awe to _Baker Street_.

Stephen was an American but even he had heard about the famous Sherlock Holmes who lived at this address.

Shaking his head, he walked down the street. He had come to London to get a book out of the library of the Sanctum to know more about a certain outer dimensional danger and now all he could think of was an asshole…

*****

It had been another busy day. Meeting up with Wong, getting admonished for looking as if he wasn’t in the condition to defend the Sanctum, and reading more books far too advanced for his knowledge. But somehow he couldn’t really concentrate.

Eventually he closed the _Book of the Unspeakable Dangers_ and went online. A google search let thousands of entries about Sherlock Holmes pop up. He forwent the stories about the cases the man had solved and looked at the image gallery. The Cloak snuggled around his neck even tighter.

“Um, do you mind?” Only now he thought of the possibility that his… Well, his… He could as well call the Cloak his _lover_. His partner in his work and his bed, someone he could and did rely on more than on any person he had ever known. So would the Cloak be jealous of his interest for this man?

Soft, thick fabric patted on his arm as if to soothe him. “No? That's good. I mean… it's not that I plan to go back there and do anything with him. But damn - look at him! He's so handsome!”

The Cloak shivered on him as if he… was laughing?! “Why do you laugh?! He is a really good-looking man!”

A soothing pat was the answer once more. Stephen sighed. “I wish you could answer me… Anyway… Look at these eyes! I mean… I know you don't have eyes. But you can still see, can you?” It was a tad frustrating to communicate with the Cloak outside of the bedroom. Or the shower. Or sometimes a chair, or the garden (there was nothing more arousing than making love with the Cloak outside - the sun burning on his skin, the air kissing him everywhere, the feeling of grass and fabric and warmth)…

“I love our sex,” he assured the Cloak. “But somehow it would be nice to… feel human skin again.”

There had been men in his life before. If Karl Mordo hadn't left, perhaps he could have been an option… Women didn’t seem to be one anymore. Christine was past and he didn’t have any interest to find a substitute for her. Actually he had thought he would stay alone forever, fighting the fight against any mystical evil. Well, alone with his marvellous Cloak…

But there was something about this man, something he couldn’t quite name. It was a little ridiculous since he had only really seen the man's… bottom. And now the pictures. These blue-green eyes, sparkling like the ocean and full of some appealing arrogance, the thick, curly hair, this unique mouth that always seemed to smirk a little.

Absently Stephen rubbed his upper lip. Sherlock Holmes looked exceptionally attractive. And somehow he was drawn to him in a way he had not experienced before. His human lovers, male or female, had been so replaceable. He had enjoyed what they'd had to offer and then dropped them, time after time.

“I'm so silly,” he mumbled. “I don't even know this guy. What if he isn't into men at all?” Or worse: what if he was involved with this Doctor Watson guy? He had not overlooked all the naughty rumours about them.

“Well, then I'm his type at least…” He sighed. “Back to my lecture.”

He went on reading for a few hours but then the Cloak started to jump up and down on him. “What's the matter with you?” Of course he didn’t get an answer but he looked at the watch. It was five in the morning – midnight in London. “Oh, no. I can't, I mean… Really?”

The Cloak jumped again and he stood up. “Okay, but we will just look at him!” Then he opened a portal and stepped into 221B Baker Street once more.

*****

It was the same picture as in the night before. Sherlock Holmes was deeply sleeping on his bed, spread out completely naked. Stephen could feel the Cloak shivering on his shoulders. “No,” he whispered. “Don't touch his…”

But he couldn’t stop staring at it. He was well aware that what he and Cloak were doing would not be considered decent, and Wong would freak out if he knew about that – using his powers for invading a stranger's privacy, staring at his most intimate spot and having very naughty thoughts about it…

God, he wanted to do more than looking at it. The Cloak sensed it at once and tried to push him forward. “No,” he hissed, “let me!”

The Cloak let him go but somehow his feet moved by themselves. Very quietly he stepped forward and slowly sat down on the bed next to the sleeping man. He was so slim, his vertebrae clearly visible under the creamy, pale skin. His legs were perfectly shaped. And this ass… He just couldn't help it – he ever so softly ran the cup of his forefinger over the luring entrance, desperately trying not to shiver.

His cock was so hard that it hurt when he made contact. The man on the bed moved a bit and he froze after pulling his hand back, but Sherlock hadn't woken up. When he was sure he had gotten away with it, he slowly stood up. And sniffed at his finger. Which made his erection get even harder…

 _“Sherlock? Are you awake?”_ he heard a male voice from outside the room, and within two seconds he had opened a portal and fled.

Panting and shivering, he stumbled to his bed. “That was close. We can't do that again! And now look at me…” He looked down on himself where an obscene bulge in his trousers reminded him of his adventure. “Help me, please?”

The Cloak appeared to shiver in anticipation and Stephen hurried to get rid of his layers of clothing. He had only just dropped his underwear when the velvety fabric surrounded his hard dick. He stumbled backwards to the bed, let himself fall and closed his eyes, spreading his legs so the Cloak could reach every erogenous zone, which it did full of devotion. It rubbed and scratched, caressed and teased, pressed and stroked in the most pleasurable way. As usual, his climax came fast, but this time he thought of a special person when he released himself into the folders of his textile lover – the great Sherlock Holmes.

*****

Of course they were back the next night. Stephen had sworn to himself and the Cloak that there would be no next time. But at the usual time the Cloak had started to pull at him and even hit him in the face with its collar until Stephen had opened a portal with gritted teeth. But whom did he want to fool – he died for going back to Baker Street, watching the beautiful man on the bed again. A real sleeping beauty, crying to be kissed awake. Well, Stephen was well aware he couldn’t do that. How was he supposed to even explain his presence in this man's bedroom, let alone finding an excuse for kissing him without his consent?

Only that he couldn’t let it be to touch him again. Actually he would have loved to _lick_ this luring spot between these sinful cheeks… But of course this was out of the question. Or wasn’t it? Wasn’t his mouth more controllable than his unreliable hands? Just an _oh-so-brief_ lick? In fact Stephen had never done that before. He had given head to men very rarely and he had never tasted any of them so intimately. But damn – he couldn’t think of anything else now than doing exactly this. He cursed when something pushed him into the back. “Let that be!”

He held his breath then, waiting if the beautiful body on the bed would move. It didn’t. After two full minutes without moving, he slowly walked forward and proceeded to sit down – when the man next to him turned around and sat up, his right hand balled to a fist, his eyes wide.

“Who the fuck are you and how did you get in?!”

Stephen pulled back, his heart hammering in his chest. “I… um… got lost... I'll go then.”

“Not so fast!” The naked man was on his feet, his unruly mop of black hair bouncing, his eyes narrowed. “Answer me!”

“I… um…” Stephen broke off. What the hell was he supposed to say? _“Hi, I'm Doctor Stephen Strange, a sorcerer who protects the world from mystical dangers. And I've come into your flat by accident and now I have to return every night because I'm obsessed with your ass”_?

“You are _what_?!”

God, he had not said this out loud, had he?! But judging from the disbelieving expression on Sherlock's face, he obviously had.

“I said I'm a sorcerer who…”

The detective shut him up with an exaggerated wave of his hand. “No, we'll come to this part, I promise. What was the last bit about?”

“Well, I…” His shoulders slumped down. “May I sit down maybe?” he shyly asked. The Cloak gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Sherlock stared at him and then shook his head as if to say: _I can't believe this is really happening_ , but he let himself drop onto his bed again and gestured impatiently at the chair next to the bed. It was full of clothes. When Stephen looked at the mess, he grabbed the whole pile and threw it onto the ground. “Sit,” he demanded.

It was not very comfortable to take a seat on this already uncomfortable chair with the heavy cloak around his shoulders, but Stephen wouldn’t have taken it off if his life had depended on it. Well... Often enough it did...

Sherlock leaned forward and bored his gaze into his. “So, you tell me, you are _what_ \- a magician? And you just beamed yourself into my bedroom? And not for the first time, right? You were here before! I felt something last night, before my flatmate woke me up! I thought I had dreamt but that was you!”

Flatmate… not boyfriend! Stephen felt relieved but he had to focus now. He concentrated on the first question. “Well, yes, sort of. I didn’t exactly _beam_ myself here though. I opened a portal. I come from New York.”

Sherlock seemed to chew on this information for a moment before he narrowed his eyes again. “And you came back here because what, you are obsessed with my… Fuck…” He stood up and grabbed a robe from his wardrobe and slipped into it.

But before he covered his body, Stephen was able to glance at his naked front – the most interesting part had been hidden by his arms so far. It looked every bit as desirable as the other side… He shifted on his chair when he felt himself getting hard again, which was certainly not an appropriate reaction to this delicate situation…

And of course Sherlock saw it. “I can't believe it! What have you just been about to do with me before I woke up?!”

Stephen felt his cheeks flush. “Um… Nothing.”

“Somehow I don't believe you!” Then he looked down on himself, his eyes huge. “What… what is your robe doing there?!”

“Oh, Cloaky, come on. Let that be!” He couldn’t believe that the Cloak's seam was nestling at Sherlock's robe to open it up. The artifact sometimes really didn't know when to let it be!

The Cloak hastily retreated and clung tightly to his body again.

“What… what was that?! _Cloaky_? This must be a fucking dream!”

Usually Stephen used this pet name for his lover only when they were alone. But usually the Cloak didn’t fumble with other men's clothes… He nodded. “Yes, it's just a dream. Why don't you get to back and dream on then? I'll leave you alone.”

“Oh no!” Sherlock shook his head vehemently and Stephen couldn’t help but staring at his cheekbones. They were as prominent as his own, which he had never seen on any other man's face before. And these lips… What would he not give to be allowed to kiss them just once…

He stared at them when Sherlock went on talking. “So… what exactly do you do in New York?”

“Oh, that's a long and complicated story…”

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. “I've got time! I can sleep as long as I want in the morning.”

“Well, alright…” So Stephen told him everything, starting with his former profession and the car accident, and then spoke about the journey to Kamar-Taj, the mess with the Zealots, how he had saved them all with his meeting with Dormammu and what he was doing now. He showed him the sling-ring and explained that the Cloak could make him fly.

Sherlock didn’t interrupt him but stared at him with an expression full of disbelief. “You're kidding me, right? This is not possible! Nobody can float around or just step from one continent into the other or reverse time and create time-loops and all that. It's simply not possible!”

Stephen's jaw tightened. “And still I sit here. How do you think I got in here?”

“Um, I don't know! But certainly not by waving your hands and open a _portal_!” Sherlock gestured in the air so his robe fell open. He hurried to close it when Stephen's gaze was drawn southwards. “Stop that! I don't do such things!”

“I'm sorry. I better go now.” He felt utterly depressed all at once. He would never get to intimately know this man. He snuggled into the Cloak's immediate embrace.

“Oh no! Show me! Show me how you do it!”

“What? You want me to leave and come back?”

“Yes! Show me this portal-thing!” There was definitely excitement in Sherlock's eyes – as if a part of him did think it was possible.

“I thought you don't believe in it.”

“I believe in what I see. It's impossible but if you can prove it, there has to be a scientific explanation for it.”

Stephen smiled wryly. He had been like him in the beginning – not being able to believe in these mystical things. But now here he was – a sorcerer who had a sexual relationship with his magic cloak. He had left this bit out… He got up and nodded. “Very well then.”

He lifted his left arm and circled his damaged right hand and saw Sherlock walking backwards when the ring of light appeared. Then he stepped through it. “Are you watching?” he asked with more than a hint of mockery.

Sherlock silently nodded and he closed the portal.

Back in his bedroom, he asked the Cloak. “What now? Really going back?”

The Cloak punched him into the back.

“But why? We'll spend the night with endless talking and finding rational explanations for matters that just are not rational!”

The only answer was another punch, even more impatient this time.

Stephen sighed. “Alright then. Let's go back.”

*****

The detective didn’t seem to have moved since he had left. His mouth was forming a perfect _O_ when Stephen left the portal to join him.

“This is… Oh fuck… My God!”

Stephen had read a few things about Sherlock Holmes and knew how rarely anyone was able to make him speechless. “You believe me now?”

“But this is… so strange!”

The sorcerer smiled wryly. “That's my name.”

“Take me somewhere!” Sherlock demanded.

“What?”

“Yes! I want to see it myself!”

Stephen figured there were one or two rules against taking common mortals through the portals. But then – nothing about this man was common. And he felt quite flattered by Sherlock's burning interest. He nodded. “Right. Where would you like to go?”

“Um… What about San Francisco? I've never been there. Seeing the Golden Gate Bridge would be nice.” There was still a hint of mockery and disbelief in his voice but Stephen knew it wouldn’t last long anymore.

The former surgeon hadn't been there either. “Okay. Take my hand.” He didn’t know if this was necessary but damn, he wouldn’t pass the chance to link his fingers with Sherlock's…

After a moment of hesitation, long, perfect fingers grabbed his hand which was shivering from more than his physical damage now, and Stephen focused on the famous Bridge and then…

… they were standing in a club or whatever it was. There was music and a huge dance floor and lots of empty chairs. The walls were covered by posters of men in different stages of nudity and arousal. It was day in the States and there were not many people but the ones who were there were staring at them with wide eyes.

“Fuck, where do you come from?” a blond man in tight black leather hissed.

“They were not there a second ago, I swear!” The handsome man with the light-brown skin, bare-chested with very tight jeans, gestured with both hands.

Too late Sherlock seemed to realise that he was only wearing his robe and no shoes. “Golden Gate Bridge?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry! Sometimes it doesn't quite work.” No, it really hadn't…

“Where are we?” Sherlock asked the two men who were still staring at them.

“Well, you're in the Fucko-Club!”

“And where is this club with the appealing name located?” Sherlock's tone was pure acid but Stephen could sense that he was more afraid than anything else, hiding it behind his sarcasm.

“Well, in San Francisco of course! The city of all gay pleasures!”

Sherlock turned around to Stephen, who couldn’t suppress a smug grin. At least he had gotten the city right!

“I fucking can't believe it,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Well, I guess now you have to. Proof and all.”

“Do you fuck with each other?” the blond guy asked.

“Yeah, because damn, I always dreamt about that!” the half-naked man threw in with a horny expression on his face.

“No!” Sherlock hissed while Stephen said: “Soon I hope!”

Sherlock stared at him but his attention was drawn back to the club patrons when the blond said: “Man, can you do it right now? Twins, I mean!”

“Yeah, kiss for us at least!”

Before Sherlock could look any more confused and embarrassed, Stephen used his magic to bring them back to Baker Street.

Sherlock looked around wildly when they had left the portal. “I fucking don't believe that!”

The sorcerer was tired all at once. He let Sherlock's hand go. “Well, as I've just proven that I told you the truth, I'll better leave you alone now.”

“But I've got so many questions!”

“Not now, really.”

“Tomorrow? At an a little earlier time perhaps?”

Stephen was taken aback. “You want me to come back?” Then his shoulders slumped down again. Certainly only for interrogating him. This man was famous for his desire to know everything. He was _not_ famous for wanting anything else from people…

“Well, yes.” And Sherlock blushed a little.

Stephen watched him closely. Could it even be possible? “Alright then. Which time would you suggest?” He hoped that his sorcerer-abilities wouldn’t be sought after at this moment then. He guessed telling Wong that he just couldn’t spare the time because he had a hot date wouldn’t go down well…

“Um, eight? We could… have dinner? Do you eat at all?”

“I'm not a demon or anything, Sherlock.” He had said his name for the first time and it had felt strange and delicious on his tongue. “Of course I eat. Well, most of the times I forget it but…”

“So do I. I get lost in my thoughts and experiments…”

“I read and read and forget the time…”

“I've always seen my body as just transport…”

“So did I but somehow this changed when…” He broke off, not willing to say _when I started having sex with my Cloak_. Of course he'd had sex before, plenty of it, but it hadn't meant anything. He stroked over the thick fabric and smiled when the collar briefly wiped over his chin.

Sherlock just stared at him. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Good night. Sleep well. I hope undisturbed this time…”

“Well, guess you won't come back tonight to look at my arse.” Had there been a twinkle in Sherlock's eyes?

Stephen smiled. “No, I promise. Bye then.”

“Bye!”

Once more he died for kissing him but he didn’t dare. But then something else came to his mind. “Can I maybe have your email address and your phone number? Just in case my colleague needs my assistance and I can't come in time?”

“Oh, sure. You use a mobile and computers?”

“We're not savages.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Sherlock fumbled in his purse for a card and handed it over.

“Thank you.” Stephen gave him one last smile and then he opened a portal to go home. He had no idea what to expect from their… It was a date, wasn't it? Probably they would just talk and Sherlock would not be available for anything…

But somehow he was happy.

When he had taken a shower, he went to bed to sleep and be awake and fresh for his meeting with this gorgeous man. The Cloak covered him tenderly, making sure no harm would be done to him.

*****

When Sherlock woke up the next morning by the noises John was making in the kitchen, he stayed in bed, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Had this really happened last night? Had there really been this man with the strange clothing and the robe or whatever it was that seemed to have a mind of its own, and a rather dirty one above all? Had this man really crossed an ocean by opening a ring of fire and stepping through? Had Sherlock seriously been in this gay bar in San Francisco with him?

Sherlock had never believed in magic or anything beyond science and data but he did believe his own eyes. Of course it could have been a wild dream…

He had given the man his number… He reached out for his phone on the nightstand and his heart missed a beat when he found a text from an unknown number.

_Just checking if it works. I hope you will have a good day. See you later. Stephen_

No, no dream… He typed a reply.

_Thank you. It does work fine. Enjoy your day as well, eliminating mystical dangers. SH_

_I hope I won't have to today. Can't think straight. Wonder why? Stephen_

_You are aware you don't know me? SH_

_But it doesn't feel like it. Stephen_

He was right. Something strangely familiar was about this man. Sherlock was drawn to him like he had never been drawn to anyone before. Anyone except for the one man he could never have of course; the man he had been craving for forever… It seemed he only allowed himself to fall for men out of the question – because really, what should happen with this strange sorcerer on a mission to protect the world? He couldn’t exactly move in with Sherlock… And why did he think about this at all? Nothing had happened.

But even Sherlock with all his inexperience regarding emotional, let alone sexual matters, knew that the doctor (he seemed to be haunted by doctors…) was very keen on getting to know him intimately. He felt sort of, well, strange when he imagined how the man had seen him lying there, naked and in a rather indecent position. He was sure that Stephen had been about to touch him before he had woken up and he was sure he had done that the night before. John would call that _a bit not good_. Well, another thing they had in common – they didn’t care about the rules of society… They did what they thought had to be done. Not that Sherlock had ever touched anybody's… special part without asking or at all actually. But he didn’t bother with rules, either. And if he'd ever had the chance to do with Mycroft what Stephen had done with him, he would have done it without hesitation. He couldn’t even imagine _Mycroft's_ reaction if he would catch him doing that then…

Sherlock had been in love with his older brother even before puberty. If he was stupid enough to use this expression. But he didn’t know how else to call this conglomerate of feelings for him. Big brother had always been the one to rub against (not literally unfortunately), to like and to hate, to admire and to fear, to desire and to push away because of these desires and because of the contempt he was showing towards Sherlock. They surely had a very difficult relationship…

It could only be easier with a stranger. Sherlock had never considered this before because, well, all other men seemed to be so… boring… ignorant… stupid… not Mycroft… but something about this man with the greying hair and the scarred hands had lowered his shields and he had known when Stephen had been about to leave that he had to see him again. He had accepted long ago that he would never have his brother so damn - he would give this a try. At least he would probably finally find out why people were so crazy about having sex…

_No, it really doesn't. It's… strange. SH_

_Yeah, don't bother with sparing me the name jokes… Stephen_

Sherlock grinned.

_I won't. Will you bring your funny robe? SH_

_Of course! You won't get only me. The Cloak and I are an item. Stephen_

_Alright. Guess I should get up now. I can hear that a client has arrived. SH_

_Well, good luck with solving the case then! Talk later. Stephen_

_Yes. Goodbye for now. SH_

_Goodbye. Can't wait… XXX Stephen_

Sherlock put his phone back and proceeded to get up to get dressed before he had to listen to whatever the client John was talking to outside his bedroom had to say.

He was aware he had a sort of silly grin on his lips but sod it. He wasn't in love of course with this, well, _strange_ man but… it was definitely something to look forward to. A really hard nut to crack. But a very handsome nut…

*****

“That was close!” Wong hissed when they entered Kamar-Taj. “You didn’t concentrate, Stephen! The Maliger could have chopped your head off!”

The Cloak seemed to agree with the Asian. It pinched Stephen's neck quite hard. “I know, sorry. But nothing happened.” A dragon made of fire had almost killed them… But in the end they had fought it back into the depths of hell. No big deal…

“What's the matter with you? You still read all night through? You need rest!”

Stephen nodded. “Yes, I will sleep more.” A pure lie. If he started to visit Sherlock frequently, he would have even less time to sleep. But Wong would find out… If he and Sherlock got together, there was no way to hide it from him forever.

“Listen, um… You can reach me anywhere if my help is needed, can't you? Even… London perhaps? Perhaps I could even switch places with our new master there?”

Wong narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Um, I don't know Europe! Would be nice to, you know, make some experiences there.”

“Experiences! Oh, no…”

“No what?”

“You were there and met a woman!” Wong said it as if the last word was the worst insult in the world.

“No!” He hadn't, had he? One could say a lot about Sherlock Holmes but not that!

Wong grumbled something. “We don't do these things!” he mumbled then.

In the last moment Stephen could keep himself from telling Wong that he should not speak for all of them and that he had probably nothing to fear from women because he was, well, _ugly_ … Wong was his friend and his teacher and he needed him. He nodded. “Fine.” He should have known he couldn't fool the other master.

“I don't believe you!”

“Are there rules against it? No sex for sorcerers?”

“Well, no actual rules but…”

“A-ha!”

“What if there is a threat! Do you want to fight naked?”

“I do sleep from time to time and I don't sleep in my clothes! I even shower every now and then, also not fully clothed!”

Wong made a funny grimace. “Alright. Do what you can't let be. But if your attention is not focused on the danger, there will be no point in seeing anyone because you won't have a _head_ anymore…”

He was a bit right, Stephen had to admit. But as soon as things were clear between Sherlock and him and he could deal with the matters, he would try to work out a less exhausting schedule. He would meet the detective as often as possible but he would stay prepared. He would eat healthier and do try to sleep more. And in the next fight he would shine, not stumble around like an idiot…

The Cloak pressed him tight as if to encourage him. He still wondered why Cloaky was willing to share him with Sherlock. He seemed to be even keener than Stephen was to get into the detective's pants. But of course this made him quite happy. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt his best friend and lover by desiring the most desirable man he could imagine. Actually he wanted to have them both and he guessed the Cloak didn’t mind.


	2. Chapter 2

“Um, Sherlock? Can you answer me maybe?”

Had Lestrade said anything? Sherlock hadn't heard him. They were all staring at him with eyes full of expectation – the DI from New Scotland Yard, the pathologist Molly Hooper and his partner Doctor John Watson. The body on the stretcher was the only one who spared him this look, probably because the man was dead for quite some time, judging by the horrible smell that surrounded him and the fact that the back of his head looked as if he had been in the way of a very angry elephant.

“Could you just repeat what you said last?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“From when on?” Somehow Lestrade sounded a bit resigned.

“From the beginning…?”

Lestrade sighed and John narrowed his eyes. “Sherlock, what's wrong with you? You're never that absent when we're on a case!”

Normally Sherlock also didn’t have fantasies about certain sorcerers but he refrained from telling John that. Instead he forced himself to concentrate when Lestrade showered him with a tirade in a rather annoyed tone, and he thoroughly examined the body while listening to him. Thank God the case was easy to solve. He explained his deductions with a lot less pathos as he usually did and then turned to leave.

“Oh, Sherlock?” the young pathologist held him back.

He sighed and looked at her while his partner and the policeman left the autopsy room, trying to not roll his eyes as he knew all too well what he had to expect now. “Yes, Molly?”

“Um, a friend of mine gets married.”

“Oh, how nice!” It was hard to not be sarcastic.

“Yes, well… She celebrates of course and I thought, you know… You could be my… my date for the day.”

“I won't have time, sorry.”

“But I didn’t tell you when it is!”

 _Fuck…_ How did he get out of this without bluntly telling her that he would rather bore a nail into his knee than having a date with her?

It wasn’t necessary. She saw it in his eyes and her shoulders slumped down. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Stupid of me…”

It wouldn’t keep her from trying again, as sad as it was. For years she had tried to win his heart and one should expect she would know by now that she would never get it. He forced himself to smile at her. “I'm sure you'll find someone else to go there with you. Why don't you ask Lestrade?”

“He's married!”

If Sherlock had ever known that, he must have deleted this information. “John then?”

She snorted. “He doesn't like me…”

“Hey, what about Anderson!” Okay, the forensic specialist was ugly even on his best days and not the brightest bulb in the box but since Sally Donovan had dropped him, he was single and surely he and Molly had a lot to talk about. Like their jobs...

“Oh, just go, Sherlock!”

“Alright. Have a good day.” That had been easier than he had expected.

He hurried to leave the morgue, vaguely registering that John could hardly keep up with his long steps. He needed to buy groceries for dinner. The dinner with the doctor… He should have asked him what he liked to eat! But first of all... “Oh, John. You will be somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh will I? Why?”

“Because I need to run an important experiment and I cannot be disturbed.” He knew if things got interesting (well, even more interesting than they already were) with the sexy sorcerer, he wouldn’t be able to hide it from his flatmate or Mrs Hudson. Or… his brother… But for now he didn’t want John to know about it. Perhaps nothing would happen and he wouldn’t want John to know about his failure. The doctor ( _this_ doctor) was still one of the few people who liked and even admired Sherlock. It would be nice to keep it this way.

“Alright then. I have a date anyway.” John seemed to buy his explanation. Well, why wouldn't he? Sherlock had never shown any romantical interest in anyone. Of course John had no idea about his insane feelings for Mycroft. Neither did his brother...

“Oh. Good. With whom?”

“I think her name is Miranda. Or was it Amanda?”

Sherlock grinned. His short flatmate was notorious for his share of girlfriends that never stayed in his life for very long. “I guess you should find out before. Would be a bit not good to call her by the wrong name.”

“I'm surprised you're aware of that, Sherlock,” John shot back with an expression of amazement. “You just almost sounded human!”

“Almost, John.” But who knew – perhaps he would feel human very soon. While fucking with a certain sorcerer. Damn…

*****

After shaving Stephen checked his mirror image once more. Let his fingers slide over his smooth cheeks and his soft goatee that framed his mouth. Glanced at the just slightly visible remains of the wound on his cheekbone.

He was nervous. Sherlock was such a good-looking, sexy man in a very unique way. Would he be attractive enough for the detective? He had thought about wearing more normal clothes but he had chosen to stick to his sorcerer outfit. It was what he was now and Sherlock knew it. Not much sense in pretending he was a common man. And of course the Cloak would have looked rather silly when draped over t-shirt and jeans… But when he imagined Sherlock in his sharp black suits (as he assumed he wouldn’t welcome him naked this time), he was well aware that he would look, well, _strange_ compared to him…

The Cloak gave him a reassuring squeeze and he smiled. “You think I look good?”

The next squeeze was firmer and he nodded. “Alright then. Time to go.”

It was one in the morning and he had slept for a few hours after studying the entire day. There had been no outer dimensional threats to fight against and so he had concentrated on learning some spells. His photographic memory was indeed very helpful also for the mystical arts. He wasn't quite sure Wong would have approved of his choice of spells but he wouldn’t tell him… He just hoped he wouldn't be sought after when he got to get intimate with Sherlock…

What was it that drew him so much to the snarky, arrogant detective? He wasn’t sure… He was gorgeous, yes, but he had met other gorgeous men. It was a deeper sort of connection that scared him in a way. The Cloak sensed his thoughts and curled close around his waist, caressing his face with its collar.

“Yes, I know. You will never drop me and you will always be there for me. And so will I for you!”

Whatever was about to happen between Sherlock and him – the Cloak was the number one in his heart.

He took a deep breath and then he opened a portal and entered 221B Baker Street.

*****

Sherlock winced when the sorcerer was suddenly standing before him, two minutes before eight.

Stephen gave him a strangely shy smile. “Sorry, I'm a bit early.”

“Oh, no, perfectly in time! Come in… Um… You're there already. Shall I hang this up?” He reached out for the thick, heavy-looking cloak that ruffled up in indignation at the thought of being stored like some pathetic _piece of clothing_.

“Oh, I'll keep it on.”

“But it's pretty warm and it can't be comfortable!” Sherlock winced when the red robe lifted itself from Stephen's shoulders and floated into a corner.

“Are you sure? I don't mind going on wearing you!” Stephen sounded a bit stressed. Nervous… Because of him?

Sherlock watched in awe how the cloak floated back to the magician and gently wiped over his face, just to retreat into the corner again, but not after giving Sherlock a soft pat on the shoulder. What exactly was going on here? He shook this thought off. He had a date with a sorcerer after all. _Normality_ was probably nothing he could expect from that. Not that he longed for it... “Alright then. Take a seat! Dinner is almost ready!” He gestured at the nicely laid-out table. He had put some efforts into it, and he saw that the other man appreciated it.

“It looks very nice, thank you. Your flatmate isn't home?”

“Oh, no. I sent him away. But he had a date anyway. With a woman!” He was babbling… Sherlock shared a shy smile with his guest and hurried into the kitchen. He filled the plates with fish and potato wedges and brought them into the living room. He placed one in front of Stephen and sat down. “Oh,” he mumbled then. “I forgot the salad. Be right back.”

And then he shrieked when the bowl appeared on the table between them. “What…?!”

“Oh, the salad servers are still missing,” Stephen said with a smirk and then they were sticking out of the green salad.

“How… Oh fuck…” He stared at Stephen, who blushed a little and shrugged.

“Why eat dinner with a sorcerer and not profit from his abilities? Wine?”

Damn, he had forgotten this as well. He was an awesome host… He lifted his butt to fetch it but let it drop onto the chair again when two filled glasses were placed next to the plates. He swallowed. “This… is very handy. And… creepy…” What else was this man capable of?

He winced when Stephen put his right hand on his left. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just a bit of showing off for you. You know – to impress you. I'll never do any harm to you. I'm one of the good guys.” Sherlock stared at the hand and Stephen pulled it away at once. “Sorry, I know it's not exactly pretty.”

The Cloak ruffled up in its corner and Sherlock reached out for the doctor's hand at once. “No, please! It had nothing to do with the looks of your fingers.” He gently stroked over them. “It's just that nobody… ever touched my hand like this.” The Cloak immediately relaxed and hung motionless again.

“Oh. Well… It's been some time for me as well. And they didn’t look like this then…” He glanced at his damaged fingers.

“You can't heal them? With your magic skills? I mean – don't think I had a problem with how they look! But it must hurt you.”

“Not much anymore. I can use them for everything necessary. Will never have to operate anyone again. You know – perhaps I could try it. With this infinity stone I mentioned. Long story… I don't really dare. I could mess it up and end up even more injured if I tried to reverse time and prevent my accident. Or I'll disappear because I'd have never existed. Messing with time is rather dangerous…”

“Oh, I see. Well, as long as you can live with them, it's fine.” Sherlock regretted his question. Why remind this man of what he'd lost? His heart started to beat a little faster when Stephen gave him a warm smile.

“No, please - don't pity me. There's no reason. Actually these hands will always remind me of how I've become what I am now. I serve a greater purpose now. God, sorry, that sounded very theatrical…”

“No, I understand! I mean – I don't really understand what your work is about as it's so…”

“Strange?” Stephen smirked.

Sherlock grinned. “Yes. I'm just a detective, a slave of logic. I don't understand such things.”

“Consulting detective. The only one in the world. You do what _I_ do, just slightly differently. Prevent the world from evil. Only that in your case it's evil caused by humans, not mystical threats.”

“If you put it like this. Yes. We're like brothers in spirit.” He bit his lip. He really didn’t need another brother to long for…

“What's wrong?” Stephen sounded concerned.

“Nothing. Well, cheers then!” Sherlock lifted his glass and forced the thoughts about Mycroft into the back of his mind. No use in spoiling this evening with thinking of whom he couldn’t have when who he probably could have was sitting opposite of him…

Stephen nodded and they clinked glasses. “Cheers, Sherlock. On a night to remember.”

Sherlock was very willing to drink to that. He was nervous but in a good way. As silly as it sounded – he felt he was in very good hands with this handsome, charismatic sorcerer. It was as if he had known him all his life.

*****

They had a really nice but cautious conversation while they were savouring their tasty dinner. Stephen explained Sherlock how he lived and what he used to deal with, and Sherlock talked about his work for the police and his private clients and the people that surrounded him like John Watson and his landlady, Mrs Hudson.

But Stephen could sense that Sherlock had a secret. Perhaps he could have tried to concentrate on his thoughts and dig in his brain to find out what it was about – he had read about certain spells. But even if he had dared try this and could be sure he wouldn’t cause any damage, he wouldn’t have done that. Sherlock had to share his thoughts and feelings with him because he wanted to, not because Stephen fucked with his brain. He might have overstepped the mark already with touching the sleeping man, well, yes, he _knew_ he had. But somehow he had been under some sort of spell himself then. And he wasn’t totally sure that the Cloak didn’t have anything to do with it… His velvety companion was obviously very keen on bringing him and Sherlock together – it amazed him but there wasn’t much doubt about it. Anyway – he would now only take what Sherlock would freely and consciously give him. He respected him and he… really liked him… wanted to know him better… wanted to have sex with him…

Stephen had thought he had left these desires behind, that he had arranged himself with giving up his former life with all the things he had taken for granted – not only his profession and his riches, his huge apartment, his fame in certain circles but also human contact. He had meant it when he had told Christine that he had to deny it to himself in order to fulfil his new task.

But in fact it had been easy to give it up because it hadn't meant anything to him. For some reason this had changed now. He wanted to explore what he could have with this man.

And he knew he would have to make the first step. Sherlock was afraid. He clearly had no experiences with relationships and Stephen was quite sure he was very little if at all familiar with having sex. Stephen had never had a serious relationship; he had always chosen not to, but he definitely knew more about it than Sherlock so he had to take these matters into his damaged hands.

When they had finished eating, Sherlock proceeded to remove the plates and the cutlery. Stephen took care of it before he could grab the first item.

“Oh, wow… You'd be a great butler!” Sherlock stated.

Stephen chuckled. “I think so. But you know what I am, too?” He slowly stood up and closed the small distance between them.

Sherlock swallowed. “No. What?”

“I'm a great kisser.” And Stephen gently pulled him in and brushed a kiss on his lips, shuddering when he felt their softness. Their mouths seemed to fit perfectly to one another, and after a mere second of hesitation, Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him back.

*****

Sherlock opened his eyes widely and almost bit Stephen's lip when he felt that something was wrapping around him and then he found himself being lifted in the air, slowly turning to his side in the doctor's embrace. “Fuck! What…”

“It's alright. It's the Cloak. He is bringing us to your bedroom.” Stephen sounded amused and Sherlock saw him smiling.

“What's wrong with walking there?!” He braced himself for getting his head smashed against a doorframe but instead they were drifting slowly and safely through the air – it actually felt comforting to be held not only by the man but being carried by this magic cape. He wondered what John would think if he came in now. Probably he would just fall backwards… His flatmate and partner in solving crimes was a very brave man who wasn’t shocked easily, but he would never be able to wrap his mind around this… Or at least it would be very difficult for him.

He gasped when he was gently laid onto the bed – in fact he came to lying on the cloak on his bed, and Stephen was on top of him.

“Are you alright?” Stephen brushed some curls out of his face and let himself slide down to lie next to Sherlock. “I don't want to molest or push you in any way. Sometimes the Cloak is a bit overenthusiastic.” He said it very fondly, and Sherlock relaxed back into said Cloak. It was soft and thick and somehow… cuddly…

“I'm fine.” And he was. He was feeling safe.

“Great.” Stephen reached out with his hand and the door closed by itself. And locked itself. “Better to be sure.”

It was amazing how quickly these things were becoming normal now. It was what it was. Sherlock, a man of logic for all his life, had accepted the new reality as if it had always been like this.

He stroked over a high, sharp cheekbone. “Kiss me again?”

“Oh yes.”

Sherlock melted into the kiss of these wonderful, full lips, unable to suppress a moan when the doctor's very capable tongue started to explore his mouth. He turned to his side and slung one leg around the muscular body next to him and froze when he realised that he was still wearing his shoes. But not for long – suddenly they were slipping from his feet, and Sherlock watched them being put onto the floor very neatly and lined up perfectly.

He focused again on the man in his arms when Stephen teasingly pulled at his shirt collar.

“May I?”

His deep voice was pure silk. And Sherlock found his American accent very sexy… He had never thought that before. Well – he had never found anyone sexy before. Except for… He closed his eyes.

“Hey! Am I coming on too strong?”

“No! Definitely not!” He would not dwell on this now, not in this situation. “Can't you just let our clothes disappear?” Suddenly he couldn’t get naked soon enough.

“Oh, yes. I hoped I would need this spell tonight!”

And within the blink of his eyes, they both were completely naked. Sherlock saw that their clothes – his modern black suit and Stephen's strange outlandish dressing – were neatly draped over his chair. “Amazing!”

“Not half as amazing as you are,” Stephen whispered reverently. “You are so damn beautiful!”

“Well, so are you!” He reached out and gently run his forefinger over Stephen's broad chest. There were scars from his accident and perhaps also from his dangerous work. There were two erect nipples and, led to by a fine line of dark hair, a very erect and impressively big cock.

“Your dick looks almost exactly as mine,” Stephen stated while stroking over Sherlock's upper body. “Same length, same girth. Only that you are not circumcised.”

Of course – Stephen was an American. Sherlock glanced at the thick, red head with the tiny slit, the shiny glans exposed to his eyes. It looked – very appealing…

“I want to lick you under your foreskin,” Stephen mumbled and Sherlock almost passed out.

They did it in the same moment – grabbing the other one's erection. And both moaned in the same deep voice.

“I want to fuck you, Sherlock,” Stephen whispered. “Ever since I saw your hole, I died for being inside you.” He let his cock go and pulled him closer. “I know it's too early and I don't want to scare you off by demanding more than you want to give me now. But God – I need you so much.”

His voice and his words did things to Sherlock he had never even imagined. He was scared and excited and willing and hesitant. “Sex on the first date?” he joked, his voice slightly trembling.

“I know. I'm a pig.” They both chuckled and it broke the tension. Stephen kissed him again. “Sorry. Better not go all the way tonight. But may I… explore you a bit, just with my hands and my mouth?”

Sherlock could only nod. How could he have possibly rejected such a plea?

*****

Stephen took a moment to just look at the man, spread out on the bed for him. He had such a long neck, such visible shoulder blades, such hairless, flawless skin, not scarred like his own. He smiled when he saw the Cloak gently wiping over Sherlock's thighs.

“What's your cape doing?” Sherlock mumbled but he didn’t sound offended.

“Please, don't call him cape. He doesn't like that. But he likes _you_ , too…”

“ _He_ … Okay… I think a part of him got caught between my arse cheeks…”

“That's not a coincidence, I can assure you.” With a grin Stephen bent over to finally claim his new lover with his lips.

“I thought so. He rubs me in there…”

Stephen nibbled at Sherlock's delicate earlobe. “Of course he does. He likes to do that. He might even slip inside…”

Sherlock gulped. “He just did.”

Stephen kissed his cheek. “How does it feel?”

“Strange…”

With a chuckle Stephen nuzzled his face into the spot beneath Sherlock's ear. The detective giggled in his deep voice. “What?”

“Your beard. It's tickling me.”

“Oh. I could shave it off. Like right now?”

“No! It looks very good on you! And it does feel nice. It's quite soft…”

“Good.” Stephen licked a stripe down Sherlock's impossibly long neck. “Wow… Like a swan.”

“Well, yours is equally long.”

“Is it?” Stephen had never paid attention to it. He found a very prominent collar bone and gently bit into it. “You're so slim. And so perfect.” He continued his way and closed his lips around a cheeky little nub. His cock was throbbing from excitement and it took him a lot of effort to not beat off and just _spurt_ …

Sherlock moaned. “Oh, that feels good!” His hand grabbed the back of Stephen's head, stroking his thick, greying hair.

Stephen smiled while he went on licking and gently sucking Sherlock's nipple, tweaking the other one with two thankfully not overly shaking fingers. When he had paid attention to the now rock-hard nipples for a few minutes, he pulled away. “Turn around for me, would you?”

“But…” Sherlock pointed at his even harder cock. “How?”

“Oh, don't worry. The Cloak dies for safely wrapping it…” Of course Cloaky would do more than that… But Sherlock would soon find out.

“And what are _you_ planning to do?”

“I want to lick your hole.”

“Oh God… Don't say such things if you don't want me to come in a second!”

Stephen cupped his cheek. “Don't worry. We've got all night.” Sherlock had saved all his passion for so long – he would be ready again very quickly.

Then Sherlock was lying on his stomach and he finally buried his face between his cheeks and his tongue in his tasty, tight hole.

*****

Sherlock had never felt anything like this. He felt like being ripped apart by his arousal, and he was pretty sure that not many men had experienced anything like that.

It was not only the tongue that was digging deeply into him or the man who was making slurping noises and running his hands over his thighs and sides while he seemed to be determined to reach Sherlock's tonsils through this side of his body. It would have been enough to drive any sane man mental. But what was happening to the front of his body added to his excitement in a way he could have never imagined. Well, it was understandable because who would have considered that a cloak (!) could do such things? It seemed as if there was a hole in it in which Sherlock's cock was buried, enwrapped by a wonderfully soft heat, but he knew there wasn't. It was magic.

He moaned into the collar of the Cloak while the southern part of it was milking and massaging him in an almost unbearable way. But whenever he was close to coming, the Cloak stopped its efforts and even pinched his thighs so he was pulled back from the edge. Altogether it was torture but a torture he would have loved to last forever.

Finally Stephen stopped licking him out and all at once he was hovering over him, his hard prick rubbing between his cheeks, his face nuzzling against Sherlock's. “God, you taste so good,” he rumbled, panting and his face hot and damp from sweat.

And all at once Sherlock wanted him; wanted to feel him inside. “Fuck me,” he stammered.

“You're sure?”

Sherlock had never been so sure about anything. He knew a part of him hoped that going all the way with this awesome man would chase his brother out of his heart. A more reasonable part of him knew it wouldn’t work. But he wanted it nonetheless. “Yes. Just take me.” He vaguely thought that Stephen would have to prepare him before entering him. But once again he had underestimated the powers of magic.

Stephen's fingers slid into him and something happened – he could feel his muscles losing up when he circled his digits inside of him. He could feel wetness appearing and the smell of orange filled the room.

“Do you like it? Or would you prefer peppermint or Earl Grey?” Stephen asked him with a smile in his voice.

Sherlock smiled. “How about Coca Cola?" he retorted.

Stephen chuckled. "Alright, enough with the clichés."

"Orange's fine. And now come on, Mister Wizard! Show me what you can do!”

And then he moaned loudly into the Cloak when something thick and hard was shoved into him.

Stephen kept still at once. “You okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, go on. God, this Cloak does things to me!”

“Oh yes, he's very good at that.”

Sherlock had suspected of course that Stephen and _Don't-Call-Me-Cape_ were on rather friendly terms with each other. He grinned at the absurdity of this all. It didn’t bother him in the least though. Stephen was a very special man with a very special cloak. It was only logical they would have this bond.

He tried to relax and not shoot his load at once when Stephen started moving in him again. He also tried to move his arse to match his lover's rhythm and the rhythm of the magic fabric under him and eventually they moved altogether in the most pleasurable way.

He heard Stephen moan and mumble something and turned his head to see that a corner of the Cloak had obviously entered the doctor's butt. So Stephen was fucking him and the Cloak was fucking Stephen and pumping and massaging Sherlock's cock. Somehow he didn’t doubt that the silky part of their threesome was enjoying itself very much as well…

It was no surprise for Sherlock that he was the first to lose it. With a cry he released spurt after spurt into the moving Cloak, feeling as if he was ripped apart by an orgasm nothing had prepared him for. As a man who had hardly paid attention to the needs of his body, he had masturbated not very frequently in his adult life - when he had done it of course he had been thinking of his brother which had hardly been a source of joy beyond the physical release, and he had never come like this.

Stephen cursed over him when his muscles clenched around his pounding dick and Sherlock could feel hot fluid shooting up his arse. He lay still while Stephen was shuddering through an orgasm that was apparently equally as strong as his own. Finally the sorcerer let himself sack onto Sherlock's body, his cock still entangled with Sherlock.

Sherlock breathed into the Cloak and he realised that there was no wetness under him. The magic piece of clothing had absorbed – eaten? drunk?– it all.

“That was wonderful…” Stephen whispered into his ear.

“Yes, it really was. Now you did get me to fucking with you on our first date with the help of your devilish tongue.”

“Sorry for spoiling you.”

“No, you're not.”

“No, I'm really not.” He rolled from Sherlock and pulled him with him so Sherlock could rest his head on his chest. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. It was awesome.” Sherlock patted the Cloak. “Thank you.”

Stephen chuckled. “Two lovers at the same time. You're a dirty boy, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I surely am.” He wondered what the people he knew would think if they saw him like this – spent, sweaty and satisfied. Actually he didn't really care. For the moment he was just happy...

“What do you think? Shall we watch some telly until we're ready again?” Stephen suggested.

“Yes, why not.” This time they walked, the Cloak stayed on the bed, looking as content with himself as any cloak could look. And probably he was waiting for them to come back and include him in their play again. Which Sherlock had no obligations against whatsoever.

The detective cuddled up on the couch with his human lover and switched on the telly.

He didn’t know the film he had caught but Stephen was pleased. “Oh, nice. _Star Trek_. He's not that ugly, the bad guy, is he?”

Sherlock looked at the young man with the black hair and the dangerous expression on his face. “Yeah, pretty cute.”

He laid his head on Stephen's shoulder and the sorcerer turned his face to him and kissed him while the man on the screen was growling:

_“You should have let me sleep!”_

 


End file.
